Prince Merlin of Camelot
by Southern Steel
Summary: At four years of age, he tottered around the halls. At eight he walked them as if he owned them. At thirteen he was no longer a little boy. At sixteen he saw war for the first time. At twenty-one he became Prince Merlin of Camelot.


**Category: AU  
Characters: All  
Rating/Warning: T; mild gore  
Author's Note: Just a little somethin' I thought of yesterday before watching the finale. And what a finale it was! Anyways, I hope you enjoy this little one-shot. :) **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Merlin, and nor do I want to after that amazing finale!**

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_Prince Merlin of Camelot_

**THE HALLS OF CAMELOT **were quietwith anticipation. The sun had fallen and candles lit the passageways, but no sound came from the servants who walked the halls, finishing the last chores of the day. Though smiles of greeting, excitement, and nervousness passed, the servants remained quiet except for the occasional whispers.

Outside of his chambers, the King paced nervously. Behind closed doors, shouts and cries of pain echoed and with each one the King flinched. It wasn't until after hours of nervous pacing that the doors finally creaked open and the midwife appeared, smiling and gesturing for the King to enter.

The King wasted no time in rushing forward and into the room where his Queen lay on the bed, tired and worn, but healthy and smiling with a small bundle in her arms. The King walked slowly and sat down beside his wife. She smiled up at him and held the bundle out.

"Meet your son, my love." She said quietly, tired but happier then she had been in a long time.

"My son." The King repeated, taking the bundle and lovingly, gently, ran his hand over the sleeping child's face.

The baby's eyes opened, revealing bright blue and the King was taken back by how bright they were. The babe looked up at him and tilted his head slightly, curious, and his mouth opened in a happy smile. The King smiled back down and ran his fingers lovingly along his son's face.

"What will you call him?" the midwife asked from the end of the bed.

The King and Queen exchanged a glance. The Queen smiled and nodded and the King smiled back before turning to the physician and answering.

"Merlin. His name is Merlin."

**AT FOUR YEARS OF AGE **the boy tottered around the halls hand placed against the stone walls. He stumbled around slowly, looking around in child curiosity. The hall was busy with servants rushing to and from, some carrying laundry, others lunches, and still others carried armor and weapons. The child had seen this before, but never alone, and the world was much bigger then when he was perched on his daddy's shoulders.

A knight with cape flowing behind walked past the boy. The knight jumped to the side slightly to avoid colliding into a tray-ladden servant. The knight's cape fell across the little boy who giggled as the soft cloak blocked the light. His feet became entangled, however, and as he moved forward to shake the cloak off, he tripped, succedding in wrapping himself more in the cloak.

He placed his hands out in front of him to catch himself as he hit the rought stones of the ground. His hands and knees scraped and tears fell as he felt the pain. The little boy began to cry and struggled to free himself from the cloak that no longer seemed soft. His cries became louder as he kicked and fought against the cloak.

"Sorry there squirt." the knight laughed, untangling the struggling child and picking him and settling him on his hip. "Ahh, come on now. There's no reason to cry now, is there? Your uncle's got you."

The boy sniffed, but ceased his crying as he looked up into the knight's bearded face. The knight smiled at him and the boy smiled back, forgetting all about his pains. The knight, however, noticed the scraped palms and gave the boy a knowing smile.

"Looks like someone needs a trip to Gaius." the knight laughed and Merlin suddenly struggled.

"No!" he laughed. "No medicine!"

"Oh yes, medicine!" the knight laughed back and tightened his hold on the struggling boy.

The knight walked quickly, covering the distance to the physicians quarters in a few minutes. The door was already open and the knight walked in, carrying the now-laughing child upside down. Gaius looked up from his work table and gave a small, weary smile at the sight that met his eyes.

"Sorry to bother you, Gaius," The knight said with a flip of his hair. "But Merlin here got a little scraped up."

With a quick movement, the laughing boy was flipped around and placed on the ground. Still laughing, the toddler ran and hid behind Gaius's legs, peeking out at the knight who laughed and gave a mock bow before turning and leaving. Gaius watched him go, shutting the door behind him, before turning to the boy hiding behind him. The smile grew on his face as he studied the boy, a picture of innocence and joy.

"Let's see these scrapes then." Gaius announced.

No longer worried about medicine, the boy eagerly pushed his hands out and showed Gaius the red scrapes. He then proceded to sit down and rolled the legs of his pants up awkwardly to reveal scrapes on his knees as well. He looked up at the old physcian and cocked his head, as if studying the man to see his reaction to his battle wounds.

Gaius sat down and bent over to pick the boy up and sat him on his knee. The boy scooted around for a moment, getting comfortable and then held his hands and knees out, looking up at Gaius pointedly. Gaius chuckled and held his hand over the boy's.

"Gelácne." The physician's eyes turned gold and the boy watched in fascination as his scrapes healed, leaving no sign that he had ever been hurt.

He looked up at the physcian in curiousity.

"Can you teach me, Gaius?" the boy asked, eyes wide in eagerness to learn.

"Teachc you what, Merlin?" Gaius asked, though he knew the answer.

"Magic!" the boy replied happily, bouncing slightly.

"Maybe one day, Merlin," the old man replied, sadness in his eyes. "Maybe one day."

**AT THE AGE OF EIGHT **the boy walked the halls of Camelot as if he owned them. If asked if he did, in fact, own the castle, the boy would smartly reply, "No, but my father does and so do I and so do you!"

The boy took after his mother both in hair color and personality. Her kindness and compassion were magnified in him, and his raven hair contrasted sharply from his pale skin, a trait he receieved from his father. Though he was young yet, he had already begun to show skills that, once trained and nurtured, would rival even his father's. Truly, the young prince was the best of both his parents.

But for now the child walked through the halls in anger, paying no attention to the servants who passed him by, giving their prince curious looks before going about their business. He muttered under his breath as he stomped by a tall knight leaning against a pillar.

"Stupid arrogant prat!" the boy muttered.

"What was that?" The knight asked him in surprise.

"What was what?" the boy asked, looking around eagerly for some sign of trouble.

The knight chuckled at the boy's enthusiasm and ability to switch from anger to alertness.

"What was it you said, Prince Merlin?" the knight clarified.

"Stupid arrogant prat." the boy answered, wincing slightly. "Please don't call me 'prince'. We're friends, aren't we?"

"Of course we are, Merlin." The big knight chuckled. "Tell me, who has got you angry enough to call names?"

"Father." the boy replied darkly. "The clotpole is being ob-nox-sious." The word was sounded out carefully, and he seemed proud of the big word.

The knight chuckled again, but a sadness had seemed to settle over him as he ruffled the boy's hair fondly.

"Why don't you go and find your Mother? I'm sure she would be able to set the dollaphead straight."

"That's a good... hey," the boy cut off in mid-sentance and glared in mock-anger at the knight. "Dollaphead is my word!" With that, the boy turned and ran to tell his Mother and get Father in trouble.

The big knight watched him go, chuckling sadly. With a sigh, he said to the air:

"I know it is, Merlin."

**AT THIRTEEN YEARS OF AGE** the boy was no longer little. He had grown to be a tall boy, already just a few inches shorter then his Father. He had been declared old enough to sit in on royal meetings, and so he had begun to act like a real prince, even wearing his small crown to these meetings.

Though proud to be considered mature enough to attend, the boy could not help but grow increasingly bored as the hours drug by. He looked to the King and Queen, but if they to had grown bored, they made no sign of it. The boy stiffled a yawn and did his best to hide his boredom.

His eyes wandered around the room, studying each and every noble and servant that sat or stood there. The boy's eyes finally looked over to his Father's side where, just beside the head of the table, sat the first knight of Camelot, the one his father trusted above all else. The knight was looking up at him, and the prince lowered his eyes in embarrassment, knowing he had been caught.

"Sire." the knight spoke up, looking at the King. "I can't help but feel my presence is unnecesary at this meeting. I was wondering if I would have your permission to go and train?"

"Of course." The King replied with a lazy wave.

"I was quite hoping to take Prince Merlin, my lord," the knight said as he stood, "Their are several things I believe could help him as he strengthens his skills."

The King looked over at the boy, who vainly tried to hide his enthusiasm. The King looked back to the knight and gave a knowing smile then, looking back at the boy, the smile fell and he gave a father's kind warning.

"You listen and do as you are told, Merlin."

"Yes Father!" the boy exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rushing over to the knight.

The two exited the room, the young prince completly missing the sad sigh of longing his father sent after him.

**AT THE AGE OF SIXTEEN** the boy believed himself to be a man as he prepared to go to war. His mother begged him not to go and his father, in a fit of temper, had forbid him to march with the army. The prince had just replied cooly and run off, preparing in secret and joining a company under his father, disguised as a young knight.

The war ended in one swift battle, and the boy who thought himself a man wished he could take it all back. The horrors he saw that day never left him. He was not in the midst of the fighting, but on the outer-edge. Through the confusion of the battle, he saw his father charging bravely, using every skill he possessed to lead his army and win the battle.

The boy fought valiantly that day, killing many a man. He would forever see their faces as his blade impaled them, the shock, fear, and pain haunted him. He fought until his blade was stained red with the blood of his enemies and every skill he possessed was used against the enemy. He fought himself into a frenzied, terrified rage.

And once the battle had ended, he ran. He ran as far as he could and became sick, the faces of the men he had killed swimming before his eyes. He ran until he could run no more and fell to the ground, curling into a ball and crying. His father found him like that, blood staining his own chainmail. He had wrapped his arms around him, holding him close as he cried until he could cry no more.

The boy clung to his father, wishing he could go back and spare those men. They had been enemies, but they had been men just as he and he wished they had not had to die in vain. His father just held him and kissed his head softly, whispering words of comfort to him.

"I understand, Merlin. I understand."

**AT TWENTY-ONE YEARS OF AGE **the boy was no longer a boy, but a full grown man. He kneeled before his father, dressed in his best robes and in shining chainmail, ceremonial sword at his waist. His head was bowed as the King stood above him, crown in hand, waiting to place it upon his son's head.

The King looked down at his son in pride. He had grown to be a mature young man, a caring man who cared more for his kingdom then himself. He would do anything for his people and the King couldn't be more proud or pleased of his son.

And yet, on this day of joy and happiness, a gloom settled over the King. Memories attacked him non-stop and he felt he could lose his composure at any moment. As he looked down at his only child, the memory he had hidden for twenty-one years surfaced and flashed before him.

_The battle raged around him, men falling around. The bodies piled upon one another, blocking the mountain pass like rocks. The sound of metal striking metal and the screams and shouts of the men filled his ears. _

_His blade cut a man down, then another, and another until bodies had piled all around him. He heard the sound of chainmail and he spun and came face to face with the man who had so recently been his friend. They spoke no words, simply raised their swords and began a duel. Blow was met for blow as they battled, none interrupting their deadly dance._

_The traitor's eyes glowed gold and the King felt himself falling, his sword falling and sliding feet away from him, out of arm's reach. He moved backwards, rising to his feet as his murderer drew closer, confident, triumphant smile on his lips. _

_And then the sword was plunging toward him and the King stiffened, waiting for the mortal blow that never came. A body had jumped in front of him at the last moment, taking the sword deep in his chest. The King's eyes widened as he recognized his manservant, his friend, his brother. _

_The man stumbled, but didn't fall as he pulled the sword from his chest and threw it to the ground. The traitor's eyes were wide in fear as the servant's hand rose and, with powerful words from a long forgotten language and a flash of gold, the traitor was dead on the ground, eyes wide, unseeing. _

_The servant fell and the King rushed forward, not caring that his trusted friend had magic, only that his friend, his brother, had taken a mortal blow. None could survive such a strike to the chest, even if they were a great warlock. He held his friend close as the life faded from him and, with just two whispered words, the greatest warlock of all time lay dead._

King Arthur shook the memory away, tears prickling at his eyes. He looked back down at his son and the gloom began to fade as the knowledge that Merlin's legacy lived on. He placed the crown on his son's head and in a loud voice called,

"Rise, Merlin Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot."

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**Spell Translations**

Gelácne-to heal/cure

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_**I hope you enjoyed this and I hope it wasn't to obvious that it wasn't actually Merlin at **__**the beginning of the story. I also hope I made it clear which knight the young **__**prince was interacting with (if anyone is unsure, it was Gwaine, Percival, and **__**then Leon) I know that in the legends only three names are given for possible **__**sons of Arthur, and none of them are Merlin, but hey, poetic liscense, right? :) **_


End file.
